


Spiked Slippers

by WildChildALR



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Ballet, Bawson - Freeform, F/M, Physical Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-02 01:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8647381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildChildALR/pseuds/WildChildALR
Summary: When a minor injury continues to plague Ginny, Amelia suggests an unconventional treatment. Though it works, Ginny is concerned about what her team-mates will say. When Mike discovers his rookie's secret he's got plenty to say.





	1. Pretty eyed, pirate smile

_I own nothing_

* * *

 

"Seriously?"

Ginny looks up from the tablet in her agent's hands to the concerned yet irritated expression displayed on her face.

"What?" She asks clueless to the sudden change in Amelia's mood.

"You've been rubbing at your shoulder and flopping around this couch since I got here. Have you paid any attention at all to this?" She gestured to the screen. Amelia had brought over images for her bobble-head figurine that she needed to make a final decision on by the end of the month so production could begin. Apparently there was already a two week waiting period to get on a pre-order list.

"Sorry." Ginny sighed giving her shoulder a final squeeze. "My back just hasn't been quite right these last few days."

"And your just now saying something?! Ginny you have to tell people these things! I'm calling the Front Office to schedule appointments with the physical therapist all this week. Screw Lawson's knees." She pulled her phone out, eyes flashing against the illuminating screen.

Grabbing for the phone Ginny revealed, "I've already had it looked at. I'm going to the team chiropractor tomorrow."

"Didn't you go the day after?"

Shifting uncomfortably Ginny rubbed her shoulder again, "Yeah but it didn't help for very long."

Looking at her a long moment Amelia turned off the tablet and set it on the couch between them. Turing to fully face her client she urged, "Ginny, I'm going to suggest something, and I want you to hear me out fully before you say anything."

"Ok..." She replied confused.

"I think you should try ballet."

Ginny stared for a heartbeat before bursting out in violent laughter. Amelia waited patiently as she continued to giggle. But then Ginny saw the arched eyebrow on the other woman's face and blurted, "Wait... your serious? Come on Amelia, that's not me! I don't twirl and frill."

"Ballet is a serious discipline Ginny. I've seen female ballerinas leg press 300 pounds."

"Bu how would that even work? As therapy?"

"If your interested I'd make some calls and figure that out. Athletes use ballet to strengthen and develop flexibility all the time." Amelia assured.

Thinking it over for a moment Ginny shook her head. "I'd rather get adjusted by the chiropractor."

"Ok. Just let me know if you change your mind."

* * *

Three days later Amelia got a text from Ginny:

_Can you still make that call?_

**I'm looking up the number now.**

_No one can know. Not Lawson, not Oscar. NO ONE_

**I may need to let Al know.**

_NO ONE Amelia. The guys would never let me live it down._

**...Ok**

* * *

 A few days later Ginny gingerly stepped into the lobby of a dance studio. It was completely across town from the stadium and Amelia apparently had the assurance of the owner and instructors of complete confidence about Ginny's coming and goings and the nature of her business there. 

When she first enters the studio, Ginny resigns herself to having to deal with starved primadonnas in frilly skirts and neon legwarmers. The girl behind the front desk seems to fir the stereotypical mold anyhow. Her blond hair is pulled back into a pristine bun, a blue cardigan over what appears to be a black leotard.

"Can I help you?"

Looking at the posters decorating the walls advertising current and past shows as well as naming stars and ballet companies, Ginny felt herself shudder. However, trying to be polite she replied, "I'm Ginny Baker. I'm here to meet with Clara."

Shuffling a few papers the girl found what she was looking for and nodded. "She's waiting for you in studio 2. Just follow this hallway, and it'll be the second door on your right."

"Thanks."

Following her directions Ginny enters the room and quickly spies a petite Asian looking woman across the room, her leg thrown over a bar, her upper body bent over in an elongated stretch. Noticing Ginny in the mirror she lowers her leg and moves across the floor, a smile splitting her face.

"Hi, you must be Ginny. I'm Clara."

"Hi." Ginny shakes the hand the other woman offered, still a little unsure if this was a good idea.

Looking over her Clara remarks, "Your workout clothes may be good for warming up at the stadium, but here Madam Taglioni has strict rules about the attire worn by those who enter her studio." With that she moves to a small gym bag near the door and withdraws a pair of pink slippers.

"Oh no. I'm not wearing those." Ginny argues.

"They're not that bad, you just gotta break them in." At seeing the hesitance from Ginny, Clara firmly informed, "You wear them or you'll have to find someone else to help you."

Sighing Ginny took the shoes and grumbled as she tried to put them on. With a little help from Clara she eventually got them on correctly.

"They pinch." She complained tugging at the sides.

"No pain no gain." Clara smiled slightly. "Now lets get started."

* * *

After the first day Ginny is convinced she never wants to go back. The shoes kill her feet and Clara is demanding and pushy trying to get Ginny to bend and move in ways her body never has before. But she's never been a quitter and in the back of her mind she doesn't want to give the other woman the satisfaction of knowing she got to her. So she keeps going back. It's hard. However she works through the spasms of pain and learns the five basic ballet positions. Most of the time she swears she hates Clara and her seemingly sadistic desire to form her into some sort of taffetad pretzel, but the way she encourages Ginny and pushes her, it makes her feel empowered in a way she hadn't felt since she'd been coached by her dad. 

One day Ginny arrives early and watches Clara in class with a number of performers, their movements precise and graceful as they moved across the floor. Watching them leap and bound, their muscles bunching and coiling to propel themselves through the routine, she discovers they're a group of women as dedicated to their athleticism as she is. She’s also surprised to learn many of the women aren’t nearly as “girly” as she would have thought.

One day Clara shows up to therapy with a large bruise on her jaw. Ginny is horrified thinking her therapist, who is now quickly becoming a friend, is caught in an abusive relationship. After assuring her that her fears are unfounded, Clara reveals that her hobbies also include roller-derby and sky diving.  Soon after Ginny is introduced to Maya, who is a chef and uses class to reconnect with her femininity in a male dominated field. And then there’s Sasha who works at the front desk and always wanted to be a ballerina but wasn’t able to enter the discipline until she was in her mid-20′s.

As Ginny spends more time with the ‘bunheads” she continues to learn she doesn’t have to be so tough all the time. Eventually she starts taking classes along with therapy though the head instructor, Marie Taglioni is someone who many compare to a Drill Instructor. Despite her growing respect for the art Ginny continues tomake Amelia swear not to tell ANYONE about where she goes twice a week for “therapy”. And everything remains hush-hush, as it should be. Until it isn’t.

* * *

 

Mike is pouring himself a cup of fresh brewed coffee enjoying the quiet of the club before all the guys starting filing in for practice later that afternoon, when the silence is broken by Eliot walking briskly through, his phone attached to his ear.

“Yes I’m here. I’ve got the bobble-head designs Ginny and you approved and I’m heading to Oscar’s office now to hand them over. Really Amelia, you should have more faith in me at this point.”

The man’s boss must have responded snarkily because he pauses mid-stride and rolled his eyes, but in doing so he noticed Mike and offered him a small acknowledging wave.

“Yes I remember your meeting with Gatorade at two, the notes you asked for are in your bag. I was going to spend the afternoon uploading pictures and video to Ginny’s Instagram and Twitter.“

Amelia must have interrupted because he let out a startled, "What?! That was today? Can’t I call an Uber?… Yes your right Ginny asked that people not know about her…” eyeing Mike he turned away and purposely phrased “therapy. I’ll make sure she gets to practice on time.”

Sighing he hangs up the phone.

“Everything ok with Ginny?” Mike questions concerned. His rookie has never mentioned the need for therapy to him.

Waving him off Eliot let out a forcefully cheerful, “Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

He beats a hasty retreat to the door and Mike silently watches him go, filing a reminder away to ask Ginny about this therapy she’s been keeping secret. But as Eliot reaches for the door, the heavy steel barrier swings towards him and within the blink of an eye he's on the floor clutching his face.

Mike’s standing over him in an instant assessing the damage. From around the door comes Blip’s head, his face confused until he sees Eliot, then he’s helping Mike haul him up; apologizing repeatedly.

Taking his hand away from his face Eliot balks at the large splash of red covering it. “I’m bleeding! Oh god I think you broke my nose!”

Peering at his nose Mike assures, “Nah, it’s too straight to be broken. But you should go have one of the Doc’s downstairs take a look. And you’ve got blood on your shirt.”

Looking down it seems like he’s going to faint at seeing the crimson staining the once pristine white shirt. But he collects himself and bemoans, “Who’s gonna pick up Ginny? If she misses practice Amelia will kill me. Then fire me.” 

“I’ll get her. Just give me the address.” Mike shrugs.

Eliot seems reluctant but catching another glance at his bloody hand he relents and gives over the information. Exiting the clubhouse Mike enters the address into his GPS in his car. Mindlessly following the directions dictated to him he continues to wonder what injury Ginny has been hiding from him. He doesn’t notice his surroundings until the electronic voice announces he’s arrived at his destination. Looking up he’s confused at not spotting a doctor’s office or even a clinic sign. Instead there’s a large marque advertising a dance studio. Checking the address again his puzzlement deepens at seeing the information is correct. Pulling further up the block he’s disheartened at not seeing any sign remotely advertising a medical felicity. Turning the car back around he pulls into the small parking lot behind the brick building hoping someone inside can help him with this mix up. No way Ginny Baker, his rookie, was taking secret dance classes. He pulls open the glass door and walks into a reception area that looks like it was decorated by Martha Stewart. Heavy red curtains dress the window and dark wood panels the walls, the space also features a large marble top front desk.

The young woman behind the desk looks up from whatever she was working on a gives him a polite smile.

“Hi.” He begins, slightly nervous for some reason. “I’m looking for Ginny Baker. She’s supposed to be getting some sort of physical therapy at this address…but I mean…” He laughs looking around trying to point out what should of been obvious.

“Wait. You’re Mike Lawson! You play with Ginny.” Her smile becomes genuine at recognizing him. “I was never really into baseball until Ginny started coming. Her enthusiasm is just so infectious you know?”

Mike nods dumbly, his brain short-circuiting that Baker would be on intimate terms with people here.

“Ginny should be done soon. She’s with Madam Taglioni in the main studio. Just take these stairs the whole way to the top. You can’t miss it.”

Glancing where she indicated Mike spied an ornate wrought-iron staircase. He was barely halfway up when he started cursing the effect the tight curve and steep incline was having on his knees.

Reaching the top he pauses and rubs his knees before continuing on. Passing through a large arched doorway he came to the giant room. Mirrors lined two of the walls, while the other was taken up by huge windows. Scanning the room Mike quickly spotted Madam Taglioni standing beside the grand piano, the elderly woman’s back was hunched and she leaned heavily on a wooden cane. But in the center of the room was his rookie. Watching her he felt his breath leave him a giant rush. For once she wasn’t clothed in black or grey workout gear. Instead she wore a leotard in soft pink, white leggings encasing her long legs and dainty pink slippers were on her feet.

Due to post-game parties and countless outings with the team Mike had seen Ginny dance many times. Her movements had always been carefree and joyful. But watching her move across the polished floorboards, the only way he could think to describe her would be hypnotic.

She stood on the toes of her right leg, her left extended behind her body, her knee perfectly straight while her arms formed a ninety degree angle.

“Excellent.” Madam Taglioni commented scrutinizing Ginny’s form. “Now, a Fouette with twelve rotations.”

Lowering her leg Ginny put one foot on the ground, and the other slightly behind her. Then she pressed straight up on her toes, standing up on the one foot. Moving only her hips up and down she kept her body straight before arching her left leg to the right, so that it was perpendicular to her body so that she bent her left knee to bring her left toes to the right leg. As her left leg kicked to the right, her left arm flew out with it, and soon she was spinning around and ‘round like a top.

Mesmerized he recalled watching dancers perform the same move during a show Rachel had drug him to years before, but none of the performers had captivated him the way Ginny was. In what feels like mere seconds yet half a lifetime she completes the number of rotations and stood facing the mirror, her smile radiant as her labored breathing caused her chest to expand and contract. However, as she caught sight of him in the mirror, the smile on her face was quickly replaced by a displeased frown.

“Mike. What are you doing here?!”

Her voice is sharp and flat and he can tell she’s trying to be nonchalant but her eyes are wide and dart around as if she’s expecting reporters to jump out from behind him or something.

“Amelia’s meeting with Gatorade and Eliot may be in need of a face transplant.” He quips.

Seeing her blank stare he clarifies, “Blip hit him with a door. His nose isn’t broken but there was lots of blood. He almost fainted. So your lucky I like you enough to drive across town to get your twirly butt to practice. ”

Sighing Ginny runs her fingers through her hair she has pulled back into a perfect bun. “Lets go then.” Turning to her instructor she bids the older woman goodbye promising to return later that week.

Sliding into his car once more Mike gazes at his rookie as she latches her seatbelt. She had changed into her usual dark workout gear and he already missed the way the way her skin had glowed against the pink she had worn moments ago. Realizing his train of thought he was slightly stunned, but then again Ginny Baker was an attractive woman and one hell of a ball player. It certainly didn’t need to mean something deeper. At least that’s what he told himself as he continued to stare.

Catching him Ginny let out a questioning, “What?”

“Just never pegged you for the frills and drama of prima ballerina’s Rookie.” He replied quickly, berating himself for being caught oogling her.

“I’m not. Amelia suggested it to help my back after that game against Baltimore.”

Concerned he looked at her intensely, “I thought it was just a strained muscle.”

“So did everyone else. But the pain didn’t go away. A week after coming here it disappeared. The stretching and moves I do here really help limber me up in ways I never knew before.”

Nodding Mike started the car and pulled onto the main road. “So does this mean you’ll be performing Swan Lake before each game? Or maybe Gisselle?”

Scoffing  as she put the window down, Ginny let down her hair which promptly began blowing around her face. “The fact you can name not one but two shows does little but show you are also familiar with ballet. Fess up Old Man, you’ve done it too.”

Mike through back his head lauging. “No Rookie, I have not. And if I hear any rumor to the contrary you’ll be running so many laps around the park your legs will fall off.” He glared half-heartedly for a moment before revealing, “I was married Baker. Rachel dragged me to see a show once in awhile, said it was a way to get more cultured. I usually ended up falling asleep by the third act.”

“So chronic napping is not a new aliment.”

“Ha!” He rolled his eyes. “Point is I never saw why anyone would want to dress in those costumes and prance around.”

“But it’s so much more then that! It takes so much strength and discipline to do what they do. Here…” She pulled out her phone and after some quick typing showed him the screen as they sat at a red light. “This is an x-ray of a ballerina’s feet while en pointe. The entire body weight of this woman is on the tips of her big toe!”

Mike glances at the picture as if he’s disinterested but he’s actually impressed. However he wants to tease his rookie a little more.

“So is ballet your fallback if baseball doesn’t work out then?”

Putting her phone away she hits him on the shoulder before saying, “No. There’s not much I’d be willing to give this up for.” 

Not wishing to dwell on the tightness developing in his chest Mike quips, “Well if you ever want to give a private show, I’m more then willing to offer myself as sacrifice. Wouldn’t want any of the guys to have to suffer through it, they don’t have the constitution.”

Smirking Ginny rolled her eyes but her voice caught an edge to it as she turned to fully face him and level a finger at him. “Lawson I swear if you tell any of them I will free that animal you’ve enslaved as a face warmer and draw ‘I love Duarte‘ on your forehead.”

Raising his hands in surrender Mike conceded, “Ok, ok relax tiny dancer.”

Satisfied Ginny sat back as the light turned green and they continued making their way to the stadium. After a moment she added, “As for the private show… if you can hit seven of my pitches out of the park, maybe I’ll think about it.”


	2. Hold me closer tiny dancer

I own nothing.

* * *

It had started out innocently enough. At least that was the case Mike would plead if it ever came up. Just some harmless fun from one teammate to another. And his favorite person to rile up just so happened to be Ginny Baker. Most times it wasn't hard. He just naturally knew how to get under her skin. She may try to pretend she was cool, calm and unshakable, but with just the right push she could be reduced to a giggling mess or a raging temper.

So really he couldn't be blamed for trying to get a rise out of her after discovering her little secret "therapy". Was she going to retaliate? Hell yes. Was it going to be worth it? Definitely.

It all started one day as they were suiting up for a game. The whole team was gathered around waiting to be escorted from the Common Room to the Dugout, and pressing his lips together to hold back a laugh he hummed a few bars. Blip on his one side raised a questioning eyebrow but said nothing. Ginny was completely oblivious, psyching herself up for the game on his other side. They managed a 4-3 win that day. The next time was at the following game. Ginny was once more standing beside him though Sal was at his other shoulder. After humming the same tune he felt a smirk turn up the corner of his mouth as Ginny remained in her own little world. But 10 seconds later Sal belted out,

"Hold me closer tiny dancer."

Ginny's eyes went comically wide staring at Sal, her jaw going slightly slack.

Then Stubbs went and added, "Count the headlights on the highway."

Soon the whole team was butchering the song, arms thrown over each other's shoulders, jostling one another like they'd already won. But Ginny's gaze zeroed in on Mike in the chaos and it became apparent she knew exactly who had started the whole thing. And if the narrowing of her eyes and clench of her jaw were anything to go by, he knew he was going to pay sooner or later. Although the fact they won 12-3 may have upped his chances for survival.

When the next game came around they all grouped together like normal but then Sal placed a hand on Mike's shoulder and said, "We're ready. Go ahead."

Turning to him Mike ask, "Ready for what?"

"Come on man. The last game was nearly a shut-out. Hum the first part and we'll take it from there." Sonny assured.

Glancing over at Ginny, Mike saw that she was raising an eyebrow at him, as if she were daring him. Though weather or not she was daring him to do it or turn the team down he wasn't sure. People who thought sailors were superstitious had never met a baseball player. And the fact that they had done so well after belting out the song last time likely solidified the act as a tradition to be repeated for every game for the rest of time. So, with a sinking feeling in his stomach looking at his rookie, Mike began to hum.

* * *

A few days later Mike was still waiting for Ginny to strike. He knew she wouldn't let him off unscathed for nearly outing her secret, especially at the expense of a cheap joke. But the waiting was killing him. However, it still surprised him when at the next game after completing his warm up he entered to a locker room filled with chaos. All the guys were running around frantically like caged rats.

"What the hell's going on here?" Mike shouted above the noise.

"Baker." Sal spat. "Look what she did!"

With that he pointed to his locker and inside, hanging on the hook that was usually reserved for his jersey was a pink leotard and tutu. On the floor beneath them lay a dainty pair of satin ballet slippers. Looking at the items Mike couldn't help but burst out laughing imagining Sal trying to squeeze into the tiny pieces.

"Oh think it's funny do you? She did this to the whole team." The other man revealed gesturing to the rest of the room. "But yours is the only one with your name and number Lawson."

Turning to where he indicated Mike was horrified to see the frilly abomination haning in his locker.

"Where is she?" He ground out, no longer amused.

"In her locker room. But you gotta wait in line."

Mike let out a noncommittal noise before stalking off to Ginny's "closet" as some called it. However as he turned the corner he almost ran into Hanan's back, and there were three other players in front of him. At the head of the line stood Duarte who was pleading, actually pleading with Ginny for the return of his uniform.

"Come on Mami, I don't even know the words to that stupid song." He begged.

"Sorry Papi, your part of this team. Everyone got pranked, including you. Though you should really be careful where you leave your dirty laundry. Never know where it might end up." Ginny smiled smugly leaning against the doorframe. With that she made a shooing motion her gaze landing on the next man in the growing line.

Feeling his temper spike Mike strode forward earning a "Hey" from the other guys.

"Calm down Javenes, you'll get your turn. By the way I think you nicked the right side of that once perfect specimen of facial hair you got."

As the other man grabbed for his face, Mike used his distraction to skirt around him and step up to his rookie. Glaring down at her he demanded, "Give them back. You had your fun but we have a game in one hour and no one is going out on that field in front of a home crowd wearing ballerina fru-fru's."

"But I thought since you guys sing about tiny dancers that you'd want to look the part." She smirked devilishly.

Glowering at her he took a step closer and growled, "Now Rookie!"

 Standing up straight she looked him right in the eyes and deadpanned, "No."

 "No?! You're honestly telling ME, you're captain, no." He sputtered, disbelieving.

 "That's right Old Man, good to see your hearing aids still working." She leaned against the door frame once more, smug smile returning. "But you know, that jersey of yours could fetch a decent price, for some antiques dealer of course, but still." She chuckled

"Damn it Baker now's not the time for games! We've got three more-" He started to yell, but then the wheels in his head started turning and he nearly gasped,as the realization hit him like a brick wall. "You wouldn't."

Raising an eyebrow she challenged, Wouldn't I?"

Turning away he ran past the other guys in line, through the Common Room and out into the stadium. Looking left and then right he rushed to the nearest souvenir stand. Skidding to a halt at the counter he spotted his jersey hanging up among the t-shirts hats and other items for sale.

"Ray!" Mike called to the long time stand worker, "Grab me my jersey would ya? I've got a game to win and a rookie to get even with."

"Sorry Lawson, Ginny says you gotta sing for it." The other man replied.

"You've gotta be shi-" Sighing he ran a hand through his beard agitatedly."Ray give me the damn uniform before I have Oscar reassign you to hot dog tossing in the stands!"

"No can do. I'm more afraid of her then you anyway." He shrugged folding his arms and leaning on the counter.

Conceding Mike agreed, "You're probably right on that issue. But come on man cut me some slack."

"Tell you what, " Ray bargained, "Sing 'Take Me Out to the Ball Game' and we'll call it even. I've been wanting to be able to sell a World Series shirt for years. Don't wanna see it pass by cuz you pissed your team mate off. Don't know what you did but I got two words of advice, Fix. It."

Nodding Mike sang the fastest version likely ever sung. After that he high tailed it back to the locker room to change. When he arrived he noticed most of the guys had changed into their uniforms, some were even chuckling ribbing each other over how the rookie had pranked their fellows. Glancing over at Sal he noticed the larger man holding a container of what appeared to be homemade pastries.

"What'cha got there Sal?" He questioned looking over the flaky crust.

"The rookie said I don't call my Ma enough, so I gave her a ring. Turns out Baker bought her a plane ticket and flew her out to see me play. I met her up in the box and after getting a promise to take her sight seeing tomorrow, she gave me my stuff."

"Your such a Mamma's boy." He teased grabbing for a pastry then retreating with his pilfered prize stuffed into his cheeks.

Walking over to Blip he sat down beside his friend and raised a questioning eyebrow at the foot massage the Center Fielder was getting.

"Ginny gave my uniform to the grounds keepers. I had to run the bases in those stupid shoes three times before they'd let me get my stuff back. Man those things killed my feet!"

Nodding sympathetically Mike replied, "That sucks man."

Blip raised his hands in a "your telling me" fashion as Mike headed to change into his uniform. Once readied he re-entered the Common Room and spied Duarte sitting in his chair staring at his jersey clutched in his hands.

"Suit up _Güey_. You've got five minutes."

Looking up Duarte's gaze hardened, "She put my uniform in the laundry."

"...Ok?"

"She put my uniform in the DIRTY laundry bin! At the bottom. Under all those sweaty, dirty, disgusting-" 

Loosing patience Mike interrupted, "Yeah I get it, your clothes stink. I don't care, you're on the roster to play so get your ass in that uniform. Now." When the Cuban refused to budge Mike got in his face, "You listen here _Cabrón_ , there are dozens of fans who paid their hard earned money to see this team play. That includes you. They don't care what you smell like, they only care that you make this city proud out on that field, and maybe take a few pictures and sign a few autographs. That's it. Now I may be a _Viejo,_ but I'm still the captain of this team. And I can make life VERY difficult for you should I choose. So put on that jersey and make some little kids day."

Staring him down Duarte quipped, "So if I do this, smell like a dog, take command and do tricks like a dog, you'll start calling me Jedi?"

Letting out a small breathy chuckle Mike answered, "You wish you were as cool as Jedi."

Once the whole team was suited up, just in time, Mike took his place beside Ginny. "You happy? You and the team square and even?"

"Me and the team are even." Ginny smirked not looking at him.

When the time came for their pre-game ritual everyone stood around looking at each other awkwardly until Ginny broke the silence.

"Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band"

She was still tone deaf as hell but soon the rest of the team joined in any lingering resentment for her prank disappeared. Even Mike joined in wrapping his arm around his rookie's shoulder, thinking the worst was over. He should have known better.

* * *

Three days later Mike was at home lounging around his pool when he got a text from Ginny:

_still interested in that private show?_

**Just tell me when and where Rook ;)**

_the studio. 1 hr_

_emojis? really? your like 90 not 19_

* * *

 

Arriving at the studio Mike parked his car and headed into the building. As he passed the same girl at the reception desk he gave a small wave before heading towards the stairs, his knees already twinging at the thought of making the treck.

"Oh Mr. Lawson!" The girl called, "Ginny's waiting for you in studio 3. Its down this hall, all the way back to the left."

Nodding his thanks he headed in the direction he was guided. As he pulled the door open though he was met with darkness.

"Baker?" He called.

Her disembodied voice echoed back, "I'm here. Just trying to find the light switch. There's a chair just by the door. Have a seat till I can get some light in here."

Following directions once more he sat in a rather uncomfortable wing-backed upholstered chair. The legs screeched against the floor as his weight settled.

"Sure you don't need any help?" He questioned the blackness unable to hear Ginny moving around.

"No. Stay right where you are." She replied, her voice taking on a deeper edge.

With that a single bulb in the ceiling was lit, eliminating a thin silver shaft through the din. A second later music began to play, a poppy techno tune he would never have listened to otherwise but the beat was catchy.

 _**"It's the strangest feeling** _  
_**Feeling this way for you** _  
_**There's something in the way you move** _  
_**Something in the way you move"** _

Then Ginny stepped out of the shadows and his mouth went dry. She was clothed in what could barely be considered a bustier, the piece was crafted of pink lace and satin as well as tiny rose colored shorts that just covered the curve of her perfect pear shaped ass. Along the bottom of the bustier hung little beaded tassels that danced and swayed against her abdomen every time she moved.

At first she simply walked around the pole, keeping her right hand on the pole. Then placing her left hand on the pole as well she spun her body fully around lifting her legs off the floor as she came down to the floor once more she tucked her legs beneath her landing softly on her knees, her legs splayed slightly on either side of the pole. Sinking back on to her heels for a moment she raised her butt and sensually rose to standing once more. Taking the metal in hand once more she kicked her legs out as she spun her body through the air before landing once more and drawing sinful figure eights in the air with her hips a few times. Walking around the pole again she lifted off and rotated her body around this time one leg ahead and one behind her before placing one hand above her head and one bellow her hip and sending her body around once more the opposite direction, her legs now tucked close to her chest. After landing she walked halfway around the pole before swinging both her legs up and over, her body now inverted with a leg on either side of the pole.

Now Mike had been to his share of strip clubs, had enjoyed many a private show with beautiful women who had loads more experience and grace then what Ginny was displaying. But none of them could make him forget his own name like she was currently doing.

Flinging her left leg around to meet the other she slid head first down the pole to the floor, her arms slowing the impact as she untangled her legs and raised herself to standing once more. Grasping the pole she spun her body her knees bent on either side and once landing she moved her body in sensual brown waves. Swaying around in a circle to the beat she inverted her body once more, her legs splaying wide over her head before wrapping tight around the metal support. Hanging in mid-air she ran a hand down her neck and along her side before dropping it down bellow her head. Using her arms to support herself she lowered her body once more until her body formed a perfectly straight line her legs completely off the floor. After raising herself to standing once more she lowered herself into a wide squat, her body swaying tantalizingly on the way down. Repeating the move as she stood once more she drew more figure eights, her hips taunting him as they moved. Next she kicked off and spun again, one ankle wrapped around the pole the other leg bent behind her, letting her momentum lower her to the floor once again. After releasing her legs from the pole in a wide movement she began to stalk towards him on her hands and knees, her back end raised and her chest pushed out.

Reaching his chair she slowly climbed up to standing and using her thighs to separate his legs, and placed her hands on his thighs. Then, she mounted the chair by placing one knee between his legs and the other knee on the arm of the chair, grabbing the back of the chair for support. Then she started to slowly move her perfect ass, swaying back slightly, moving her torso over and up to one side of him, and then to the other side, repeating this circular motion a few times.

Mike for his part was frozen in place, wondering if this was all a dream or if his rookie was really on top of him, giving him a lap dance, the single light shining around her like an ethereal halo.

Untangling her legs from his, Ginny returned to standing then spread  his legs out in a v-shape while she turned around and slowly backed up into him. Once she reached him and the backs of her calves are touching the front of his, she swayed down while holding onto the arms of the chair until she land on his lap. From there she drew circles and figure eights with her behind.

Grinding his teeth together Mike prayed she couldn't feel his hard on. Oh who was she kidding of course she was. But it seemed like she was enjoying the feel of it against the seam of her shorts.

After a few moments like this Ginny returned to standing and reversed her body so that she was once again facing him. Climbing back onto his lap she gyrated against him before bending all the way back and brushing her finger-tips across the floorboards, her thighs holding his hips in a vice like grip her only support.

Righting herself once more she looked him in the eye and must have enjoyed seeing him become so undone because she smiled wickedly and lifted herself off of him once more. Mike's brain didn't even recognize she was walking away until she was halfway across the room.

"What? What the hell was that?" He stuttered as all the lights came on and he flung himself out of the chair stalking after her.

Laughing darkly she turned to face him and replied, "I figured you would know a lap dance when you received one. But they probably had a different name for them in your day. I know I'm not experienced or anything but-"

"Where did you learn to do that?" Mike questioned his temperature rising imagining faceless shmucks pawing at his rookie.

Gesturing to the now fully lit room displaying multiple poles Ginny revealed, "Here. Madam fell on hard times a few years back, ballet isn't exactly a necessary or cheap pastime. Wanting to gain more clients she went along with a scheme Clara came up with to offer pole dancing classes as a form of exercise. At first she hated it and made sure no one taking those classes interacted with her usual dancers. But eventually word got around among the older patrons and classes doubled. Madam still tires to keep this studio off limits to the younger dancers, but its a well known secret anyway."

Crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow he demanded, "And you luring me here?"

"Payback. You deserved it. Not to mention enjoyed it." She eyed the sizeable bulge still evident in his pants.

Sighing he scratched his beard willing himself not to blush, "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Hold up! Is Mike Lawson actually admitting he was wrong?!" She gasped dramatically, a hand going over her heart.

Rolling his eyes he bit back, though it held no venom, "I never said that."

"Whatever." She laughed. "Hey I gotta get going. Amelia is coming to pick me up and talk about this deal she's working on with Gatorade. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Count on it Rookie." He smiled, glad for the lack of any awkwardness.

Smiling she jogged across the floor to grab her things. Shouldering her bag she gave him a brief hug on the way to the door. Once she exited Mike looked at himself in the one mirrors lining the wall. He looked wrecked. His shirt was rumpled where Ginny had rubbed against him and his eyes looked tired yet shone brightly.

"Face it old man. She's gonna be the death of you." He told his reflection.

Just then his phone buzzed with an incoming text.

_Anytime you want a repeat performance let me know_

Shaking his head Mike wondered if such a death was all that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I work for reviews!

**Author's Note:**

> I work for reviews


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